


The Unused Path

by MoiraiThanatoio



Series: Proverbs [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Betrayal, M/M, Memory Alteration, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoiraiThanatoio/pseuds/MoiraiThanatoio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the plot for revenge on the CSIs takes place, Nick’s recovery from his memory tampering deepens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unused Path

Go often to the house of thy friend; for weeds soon choke up the unused path. - Scandinavian Proverb

***

Nick’s pace was even, unhurried as he walked through the partially emptied halls. He stopped a moment, using the wall to crease the paper he was holding. It folded smoothly, just below the blank signature line.

Satisfied, he started to walk again. Adding the ‘sign here’ tab stuck aimlessly to the top of the stack, Nick slid the page into the middle.

He rapped briskly on the open door of his destination. At the questioning glance, he brandished the sheath of printouts.

Grissom dropped his glasses on the desk and began to rub at his growing headache. He gestured Nick into the office, once again certain that coming in early was never a good idea. No matter how difficult – how awkward – it was to work with Nick Stokes, they both had jobs to do.

“What is it, Nicky?”

***

“It’s just a thing, Gil.”

Nick never shifted from his sprawl on the blanket. His head was still cushioned on the outstretched curve of his lover’s thigh. They were the very picture of normalcy on a college campus. A picnic, a professor and his younger partner, the lazy afternoon break on the quad.

“And yet, for a family thing, there are a select few others as well.”

Nick turned into the hand petting his hair even as his features flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just…”

“Yes,” Gil prompted with an easy smile.

Nick sighed. He scanned the passing students with a cop’s eye. Backed into a corner, he finally gave the truth. “Since I was little, the people who love me have always called me Nicky.”

The point was dropped without reply, back into their companionable silence. Nick bit his tongue, burying his hopeful expectations. Gil stilled his hand after a moment more, finally having reached a decision. This wasn’t a risk he found easy to take.

Gil’s long pause had Nick sitting up, a growing worry on his face. He reached out, taking the now lax hand in both of his own. Gil simply stared at him, awestruck, his back drawing forward and slightly away from the tree.

“Gil? What’s the matter?”

He reached out, gliding his free hand along the rough smoothness of Nick’s jawline. “Nothing.”

Growing nervous, Nick’s smile wavered. “That’s an awfully intense look for nothing.”

When Gil just continued to smile, Nick was driven to babble. “Gil, you asked… I didn’t mean…”

“Have you ever thought about living in Nevada?”

“What?” Nick stared, lost in the change on subject.

“I want you to come home with me, Nicky.”

“What did you call me?”

Gil slipped his hand free from Nick’s. He reached up, taking his lover's face between palms slightly damp with anticipation.

“Nicky.”

***

“Nicky?”

Nick came to with a start. The dark of Grissom’s office was a startling change from the remembered sunlight.

“Are you alright, Nicky?”

His name from Grissom’s lips and his regained recollection tightened the muscles of his throat. But Gil still had to be answered.

Nick proffered the papers in his hand, ignoring the faint shaking. He waited but Grissom only stared at him despite taking the packet. Nick didn’t last long before the excruciating examination drove him to speak.

“Can you please just sign the papers?”

Grissom’s brow furrowed. He knew there was something not connecting. Although he began to raise a pen, he was still curious.

“You could get this done anytime by myself or Catherine. You don’t look well; perhaps you should go home early.”

Nick did his best to look normal as he waited anxiously for Grissom to start scrawling his name on the pages. “I’m leaving early for a doctor’s appointment. I don’t have time to wait for Catherine and you’re here anyway.”

Grissom looked down at the easy dismissal of his presence. With sharp strokes, he barely looked at the papers as he flipped to each tab and scribbled. No further comments passed between them as the packet was handed back to Nick.

Nick paused at the door, unable to walk without some small effort to ameliorate the well-disguised hurt.

“Thank you, Gris.”

***

“I’m rather surprised to see you again after our discussion last time.”

Nick glanced around, hesitating. He was surprised to find himself in a therapist’s office. Most especially as this was the office of a certified hypnotherapist.

“Look, Dr. Franks… Can I be, well, frank with you?”

The doctor smiled. He’d heard that little pun too often to take offense. “It would only help yourself if you were, Nick.”

“I showed you my file from Dr. Walters. You listened to what he did… And you seem to understand why I find it hard to trust a doctor.”

Thomas Franks nodded as his patient spoke. “Your reaction is certainly to be expected after such a betrayal of patient trust. Dr. Walter’s actions were certainly immoral and unethical if only borderline illegal.”

“Well, he’s dead. So I’m not focusing on that,” was Nick’s quick rejoinder.

Franks made a quick note on his pad. It was gibberish to any random reader. To him, it was a notation that Nick Stokes would likely have trouble confronting the source of Michael Walter’s actions.

“But you…” Nick hesitated, “I’m willing to trust with this.”

“Do you know why?”

Nick shifted uneasily at the question and delivered a pat response. “You do good work for the department.”

Dr. Franks permitted a look of polite incredulity to cross his face. “As I recall, I consulted on only one case for the LVPD and that was as a personal favor.”

Nick squirmed, uneasy at being confronted with his own too-pat explanation.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really felt you could come to me for help, Nick?”

The CSI sat forward, leaning his arms upon his knees. His hands were clasped tightly and his gaze never shifted from them. “You’re homosexual. You’ve been living with Joseph Boer, Chief of Emergency Medicine at Desert Palms, for about ten years. Before that, you both lived in California. The case you consulted on for the department was because Gil Grissom asked for your help. Nothing in your background suggests you even considered turning down a friend’s request.”

Thomas was perfectly still, not betraying his uneasiness. It was reasonable that someone with access and a fear of his profession would look him up. Nick looked up, bitterness leaking from his next words.

“Walters didn’t just take part of my life. He took love, happiness, a feeling of completion. He did it because ambitious future judge’s sons aren’t gay in Texas.”

At the pure anger in Nick’s eyes, Dr. Franks changed his notation slightly. It wouldn't be hard for Nick to confront the dead doctor’s patron. It would be difficult to channel that fury into a healthy, productive outlet.

“What I didn’t tell you last week, doctor, was that the person I lost and the reason I trust you are the same.”

***

It was generally assumed by his subordinates that Gil Grissom was an automaton. He was the consummate professional from the start of his shift through the end, no matter how many hours later. What few people had the opportunity to find out was that it took large quantities of caffeine to reach that stage.

Gil slumped out of his bedroom as dusk began to kiss the sky over Las Vegas. His pajama bottoms were comfortable, reliable plaid. The robe, cinched tight, was a tattered-at-the-edges silk. He usually kept it in the back of his closet. An object hidden from sight, but never forgotten. When regret burned at his soul, it came out for scant, unreliable comfort.

A red beacon glared from his answering machine. Unsurprised that it hadn’t disturbed his rest, his phone ringers were never on, he crossed the room to retrieve the message. It came quickly, a single recognized voice.

“Gil, it’s Tom…” A heavy sigh then the man continued, “I am beyond annoyed with you right now and pissed that I can’t discuss why. Dinner, Friday, 8 PM. If you don’t show, I’m going to send Joe to your lab. You know he’ll carry you out over one of those linebacker shoulders if he has to. See you then.”

Wondering slightly at the insistence, Gil sought out his usual repast. He wouldn’t ignore the invitation. Not only were they good friends, but Joe would eagerly carry out Tom’s threat.

***

Sara sipped at her cola even as Greg derided her unwillingness to have a beer. It seemed that the further she separated herself from her previous attempts to woo Gil Grissom, the more she became someone she believed he would appreciate.

“I just don’t get it.”

Her statement interrupted Greg mid-word. As someone well accustomed to the experience, he fell silent. It was Nick who answered her with, “Get what?”

“Grissom.”

“Not this again,” was Greg’s plaintive whine. Nick fell silent, not entirely comfortable. It was one thing to gently deride Sara’s crush. It was entirely different to accept that he was mildly jealous of the idea that she might… might… be successful.

“Is it just my imagination, or has he been even more of a dick lately?”

“Blasphemy from the fan club!”

Greg’s melodramatic exclamation was met with a simple, “Shaddup,” from Sara.

Nick only snorted before muttering, “Silk, silk, silk.”

Sara shook her head, “Okay, so he’s always ridden you hard.”

***

“Mmm… Hold on, Nicky. I’m going to ride you so hard.”

Nick gasped as the hand sliding down his sweat-slick back paused at the cleft of his buttocks. With no warning and only the barest slick to ease the way, Gil’s right thumb thrust inside the quivering opening. Nick moaned, drawing his head up until his gaze was captured by the mirror. His lover met the look with a wicked grin that promised much more than his currently pumping hand.

Hands braced on the dresser, pupils blown open with arousal, Nick’s lips twisted in a wide, easy grin. “Sadist,” he exhaled.

Gil leaned further over Nick’s back. The stretch did interesting things to his still moving right hand. His left hand followed the curve of shoulder blade, down the bicep, to clasp fingers with Nick. Still smiling, Gil bit gently at the stretched column of his lover’s throat. Nick tilted his head to accommodate the gesture, sighing as the thumb was replace by two fingers.

“Stop playing around and just fuck me already.”

At the demand, the careful preparation ended. A third, then a fourth finger were added in rapid succession. Nick gasped, dropping his head and gritting his teeth as he panted through the oddly pleasurable burn.

“Oh no, Nicky.”

Gil’s left hand moved beneath Nick’s chin. It gently urged his head up, directing his gaze once again to the ardent lovers in the reflecting glass.

“Hold tight, Nicky. I want you to watch. You’re going to see what it looks like as I fuck you. I want you to see how beautiful you are to me.”

Nick only growled out a demand for, “More, dammit,” as his lover’s cock replaced his hand. There was no gentle adaptation to the full penetration. Their pace was frantic, demanding, desperate. Even as they took this respite in flesh, they knew the cause.

In less than a week, Gil’s time in Texas would be over. In little over a month, Nick would join him in Nevada. For now, they had each other.

***

“Nick? Damn, man, where’d you go?”

Sara looked on inquisitively as Greg finally managed to draw his attention to the present company.

Nick coughed, covering his embarrassed flush with a hand. “Nowhere, man… Just… thinking about something.”

It was Sara’s turn to scoff and she did so masterfully. “Right. Whoever she was, she must have been good.”

His attention drawn irrevocably to the wood he was throwing in a bar with two coworkers, Nick lost the battle with his blush.

“And on that note, boys, I’m done.”

Greg watched Sara leave with a half-grin. He’d never quite recovered from her revelation that she’d peaked in the shower. Finally, he turned back to Nick. “If that was for her, it was wasted. She’s never going to get over Grissom.”

Privately musing that the older man seemed to inspire that in people, Nick’s erection faded as he scowled. Assuming wrongly, Greg backtracked. “Whoa, man… If that was for me… flattered and all… but not interested.”

Nick couldn’t help chuckling. “Greg, you’re a dog.”

***

“We’re swamped, so I’m putting stitches in this guy’s ass. I’m trying my damnedest not to break down and ask how you get bit five times on your bare ass by a ferret. And what does this guy do? He wants to know if he can keep the tooth I dug out as a souvenir?!”

Tom chuckled at the story as Gil just shook his head. It was not uncommon for Joe to shake his Dr. Boer persona with anecdotes from his day.

When dinner had been eaten and coffee distributed, Gil watched his friends with fond envy. The pair had settled, newlywed close, on the loveseat without a moment’s thought. The contrast between Tom’s perpetual surferboy tan and Joe’s chocolate complexion was as beautiful as ever.

“Just one more blind date, Gil,” Joe asked with the patient persistence of the happily settled.

“No,” was Gil’s basic demurral.

Tom listened with a faint sense of pained anxiety. It was barely obvious to the eyes of the trained observer. Gil silently wondered at this reversal to his usual encouragement of his partner’s matchmaking.

“He’d be great for you. Surgical resident, works nights, cute, likes older men…” Joe’s voice tapered off in temptation.

Gil only shook his head. “My heart hasn’t been mine for a long while.”

***

Nick jerked out of the bullet’s path. As he fell, he felt the burning crease of impact along his neck. It was high, near the back, where he’d relished his lover’s touch. He hit hard on the pavement, the world fading quickly with his consciousness. Certain he’d be shot again and never wake, Nick’s mind cried out his loss.

***

He woke with a cry, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Scrambling for the bedside lamp, the light finally battled back the dimness of late morning sheltered by blackout drapes.

Padding through his home in only his boxers, Nick realized he still wasn’t completely comfortable in this residence. A glass of water didn’t mellow the edge of his fears. Sighing at his self-perceived weakness, Nick finally slouched at his kitchen table, the chair seat and back cold against his too-warm flesh.

***

Rolling the amber from palm to palm, Nick grinned at Gil’s glance of uneasiness. Handing it back, the Texan shook his head. “It’s a rock, Gil.”

Taking it carefully, he held it to the light for his lover. “A walking stick, Genus Phasmida. They are one of the oldest on the planet, relatively unchanged over millions of years.”

Seeing that Nick didn’t quite get it from an entomological point of view, Gil changed his tactic. Addressing the human interest, he tried again to explain. “My mother gave it to me when I received my doctorate. She told me that my heart was in my bugs.”

He smiled at Nick gently before continuing. “You’re my heart now… But, just give me this one month, I’ve carried this little thing a long time.”

The boarding call echoed in the terminal, drawing their attention to the waiting flight. Nick hesitated, restrained in public. Gil clenched his jaw but lifted his carry-on.

“Soon, Nicky. I’ll have everything ready and be waiting for you.”

***

His own voice on his answering machine replaced the echo of flight boarding instructions. No one spoke for a moment, then the machine dutifully recorded an offer to install water softening or pool heating devices in his home.

Nick rubbed at his face, scowling as the amber chunk scraped his cheek. From the lines impress in his palm, he’d been clutching it tightly as he dozed. Honestly, he didn’t remember picking it up. He must have reached out in his sleep to grasp the object from the table.

But then, a recent memory struck him.

“I gave it to you a long time ago. I wouldn't know what to do with it back at this point.”

Nick stumbled to his feet, grinning like a fool. Gil hadn’t been talking about the mineral, or the bug. He’d meant his heart. Absolutely certain of his place in the older man’s affections, Nick rushed his preparations for work. When his shift was over, he had a past to unbury.

***

Nick didn’t resist his amusement as Warrick related his story. Nothing was trumping his good mood, not even an anecdote about wannabe Russian mobsters and ‘Rick’s perpetual women.

He’d joked, smiling all the while as Catherine handed off the assignments. The tedium of a trash run wasn’t even enough to spoil his anticipatory high.

Later, as he struggled against the bindings in the back of a moving vehicle, there was only one focus. He had to stay alive long enough to be found. He knew without a doubt that he would be found.

As Nick succumbed to the sweet bite of ether, he was focused on only one person.

***

When Catherine first told Gil of Jim’s call that Nick was missing, he paused. She stared at him, incredulous at his impartiality. For his sake, Gil was simply waiting for the punch line to a particularly poor joke.

It was only as they arrived on scene that he finally admitted to himself that Nick was in grave danger. The desperate part of his mind, the part that did and always would love Nicky, began to gibber its mindless fear. Ruthlessly, he shoved it aside.

There was no space in Nicky’s fate for anything but the best Dr. Gil Grissom could give. Likewise, when he told Catherine, “Let me do this,” and assumed the evidence from what was technically her case. The cold part of his mind, the part that handled his job and didn’t allow it to affect his life, was willing to shoulder the burden of any mistakes alone.

He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life wondering if someone else had made a mistake. It they didn’t get Nicky back alive, the guilt would be his and his alone.

***

There were few hells more rich than having to face your former lover’s family and not be able to confront them over their actions. Gil saw the flash of appalled recognition on Jillian’s face and the angry disgust in Bill’s eyes. Hopefully, Catherine would misread the cause of the emotions. Hopefully, the Stokes would focus more on their son’s welfare and less on his prior relationship. Finding himself relying far more on hope that Gil felt healthy, he began to play along.

“Your honor. Mrs. Stokes. I’m, uh, sorry that we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

Gil could almost feel the silent ‘again’ as a tangible presence in that sentence.

“Have you been able to make contact with the animals who took my son?”

Unsurprisingly, Bill focused his attention on Catherine. Gil barely resisted bitter laughter as Jillian forwarded her idea to pay a partial ransom. The last time he’d seen ten grand in her hand, she was offering it in return for leaving her son alone. He managed only to state wryly, “I don’t think that will help.”

Jillian’s next comment bit deep. “We’re not here to show support. We’re here to get Nick home.”

Gil held tight on his fury. This pair would only take Nicky anywhere over his cold, decomposing corpse. He was almost glad to show them the monitor broadcast. Although the idea of Nick’s trouble hurt him as well, he carried years' worth of bitterness towards this pair.

***

His hell continued to deepen. As Gil confronted Gordon, he wasn’t certain he could do it. But then, his foe made a fatal mistake. He reminded Grissom just how strongly he felt.

“Yes, he is. Where is he buried?”

“Are you two close?”

“That’s none of your business.”

But then their suspect and his knowledge were gone. The EMT assessed Dr. Grissom’s injuries, confused all the while. He had no outward trauma consistent with this moderate level of shock. In the report, it was written off as a reaction to the explosion’s proximity.

Internally, Gil was finally confronting the idea that he may well lose his Nicky once more.

Permanently.

***

Nick cursed the damned light. It was taking the fan, his air supply, away. He wouldn’t let this bastard beat him. He would wait. He would survive. The team would find him. Gil would find him.

Clutching thoughts of a hope and love filled future closed, Nick shot out the light. But it wasn’t long before his faith began to waver. He had an opportunity that few did. He could say goodbye. If the only thing found was a body, his body, if his prison collapsed, then he would have had that chance.

Faced with a nearly certain death, Nick had no choice but to acknowledge his parents. Yes, his father had been overbearing, authoritative, and had abused his trust. But it was his father. The tape would never be private and this wasn’t the time to settle those issues. They may never be settled.

In addressing Grissom, his will broke. This wasn’t how he wanted his former lover to remember him. Not as a case, not as a corpse on a slab, no matter how carefully treated by the investigators and coroners.

“… so sorry I disappointed you.”

***

Watching, Gil offered silent thanks for the skill that allowed him to read Nicky’s words. He could see the fading determination and growing resignation on that face. It just about broke his heart and he spoke without realizing his thoughts had become audible.

“… you never did, Nicky.”

His disappointment had never been the fault of his former lover. In truth, he’d never been more proud than as he watched Nick do what was necessary to survive his latest trial. The actions reminded him of something. But that something didn’t become specific until he’d identified the breed.

“Solenopsis Invicta.”

***

“I don’t give a fuck what they’re called, the little bastards have to die!”

Gil chuckled at the outraged statement. Their lunches on the grass, a near daily occurrence, had been relocated. Nick hadn't quite forgiven the interlopers.

“They’re holding our tree hostage.”

“They’re insects. I somehow doubt this is a specific plot against you.”

Nick was still sulking, sucking noisily on the straw of his take-out cup. “It is… They know instinctually I’m allergic.”

Gil paused, turning to more fully face Nick with a slight frown. “You don’t carry an auto injector.”

Nick rolled his eyes at the accusatory concern. “It’s mild. I’d have to stumble into literally hundreds to have a real problem.”

This didn’t bring a halt to his companion’s frown. Reassuring, Nick patted him on the arm.

“It’s okay. Instead of an injector, my doctor sent me to a class. I know not to thrash or panic, to keep them out of soft tissues, and wash them off or hold still while someone else does.”

“They would bite anyway, Nicky.”

Smiling at the oddly endearing protective streak, Nick kissed Gil on the cheek. “That’s why I have you. You wouldn’t panic either.”

***

The assumption that Gil wouldn’t panic was sorely tested as they located and sped out towards the site of Nick’s precipitous interment. Surrounded by an equally desperate team, Gil’s anxiety went unnoticed.

But he couldn’t force himself to back away when it was time to open the hole. Nothing had stripped him to the raw core as Nick with a gun barrel to his head. The Texan was already borderline delirious, barely responsive as Gil employed a long lost nickname to engender a response.

It was only when Nick was out, safely headed away in the ambulance that Gil gave into his own need.

“I want my guys back.”

Ecklie barely acknowledged the utterance.

***

“I promise.”

He kept repeating the phrase before Catherine and Warrick’s worried eyes. Not even the controlled scurrying of the EMT put a pause in Nick’s constant repetitions.

***

“Please sit here, your honor.”

Bill Stokes glanced at his son’s oddly still form as he took the indicated chair. “Can he hear us?”

Dr. Walters smiled in a way that managed to be equally ingratiating and condescending.

“Of course. He’s simply not currently capable of recall. He’ll retain no conscious memory of your participation.”

“I don’t see why my presence is at all required.”

“The requested conditions have been set, Mr. Stokes. In order to ensure that they remain, they need to be reinforced by a willing desire. Just as a smoker has to want to quit for therapy to be effective, we must provide your son with the desire to keep these conditions in place.”

The elder Stokes scowled. “If that was the situation, I wouldn’t have brought him to you.”

“Yes… well… That’s the purpose of reinforcing the condition. With, say, the desire to please a parent. The key is his relationship with you.”

“This is why you were so interested in how we address each other. The Cisco Kid and Pancho,” he stated with new assurance.

“Precisely.”

Bill Stokes nodded. Underneath his positive assumption that these extreme steps were required was a faint trace of regret for what he had done to his son.

“Are you ready, Mr. Stokes?” Dr. Walters asked with a barely veiled impatience. It was only a moment before he received a quick nod in reply.

“Then speak to him as we discussed.”

Without a trace of his momentary doubt, Bill turned to his son. “Pancho?”

“Cisco,” was the quick, yet slightly muzzy, reply.

“I only want the best for you, Pancho.”

His eyes slightly unfocused, Nick smiled. “I know, Dad.”

“I need you to do something for me, Pancho.”

“Anything, Cisco.”

“Do you remember everything Dr. Walters has helped you do, Pancho?”

“Yes, Cisco.”

“I need you to always remember what he’s taught you.”

Nick’s features twisted slightly. At a gesture from Dr. Walters, Bill Stokes pushed the point.

“I need you to promise me, Pancho.”

Nick nodded.

“I need you to say it, Pancho. Say ‘I promise’.”

“I promise.”

***

Processing a large, multi-faceted crime scene was a mind-numbing execution of procedure. Gil lost himself within the routine. He used his work to bury himself. It blocked his vast relief, his overwhelming regret that the ambulance hadn’t taken him away as well, and the restrained fury that it wasn’t his right to be at Nick’s side.

The sudden jangling of his cell echoed in the clear desert air. Ignored, as activity continued around him, Gil was surprised to hear Catherine’s overly sharp tone.

“Get down here to Desert Palms. Now.”

***

The scene inside the emergency room was one of confusion. In addition to the normal ebb and flow of medical traffic was the knot of confrontation consisting of the older Stokeses, Catherine, and a physician.

Grissom approached them with brisk strides, just able to make out Catherine’s voice.

“I am supposed to be the holder of his medical power of attorney.”

It was a relief to identify the doctor by the voice that calmly responded. “Ms. Williams, I’m sorry. Mr. Stokes placed a new power of attorney in the courtesy file that the hospital maintains for all public safety personnel. Although it was filed within the last two weeks, it is his valid request.”

Bill Stokes was quick to object, not noticing that Gil had joined their little group. “There is no way we will permit this. My son will not be abused by that man.”

“What’s going on here?” Gil asked in tones of complete and utter confusion.

The knot loosened. The Stokeses wasted no time in shifting glares of pure antipathy on the new arrival. Catherine’s relief and Joe’s aggravation were little comfort.

“Dr. Grissom,” Joe started with a professional expression and a glint of final understanding. “I’m Doctor Joseph Boers. We’ve stabilized Mr. Stokes but there are some decisions you need to make about his treatment.”

Gil shook his head. “I don’t understand. Catherine holds his medical power of attorney.”

Dr. Boers flipped the chart in his hands in order to present a paper at the top. “As I’ve been trying to explain, Mr. Stokes filed a new power of attorney that changed his preference. This is your signature here, isn’t it, Dr. Grissom?”

There was a telltale affection softening his features as Gil breathed out, “Oh, Nicky…”

Joe snapped the file shut with a satisfied flourish. He turned slightly, prepared to lead his friend further into the depths of the hospital.

“Now, Nick did…”

His attempt to lead Gil away was thwarted by an angry outburst and a harsh grip on the night supervisor’s arm. Bill Stokes’ face was twisted with his absolute fury.

“I will not permit you to corrupt my son!”

The hard look in Gil’s eyes should have warned the Stokes’ patriarch to back off immediately. Catherine’s jaw was hanging nearly open at the obvious depth of knowledge and dislike between the two men.

“Take your hand off me.”

Ignoring the precisely enunciated words, Judge Stokes shook him slightly. “Do you really think I’m going to allow this to happen? My son will be coming home. I will make sure that he finally forgets this nonsense.”

There was a momentary answering flash of outrage. Then, Gil moved. Turning into the grasp, he slipped free of the hand on his arm. With a twist, he entered his own strength into the bargain. The closed fist and element of surprise was incredibly effective in pushing Bill Stokes backwards with a few unsteady steps, grasping his bleeding nose.

Gil was poised as a fighter. His body was tense, resisting the urge to follow up the blow with others. Catherine overcame her shock long enough to hold onto the shaking and crying form of Jillian Stokes.

“Understand this, Bill,” Grissom spat in a tone usually reserved for serial killers or the Sheriff. “The only way you will ever again harm Nicky would be after I am buried. If you’re prepared to kill me, go ahead. Otherwise, back off.”

Dr. Boers spent a moment smirking in a decidedly unprofessional fashion. Ignoring the minor altercation as if it hadn’t occurred, he returned to leading Gil into the hospital.

“As I was saying, Dr. Grissom. Nick did experience a severe allergic reaction but he has been stabilized. There are a few decisions to be made about his care.”


End file.
